"Me and Armini" and the Walkup

Is it worthwhile to examine the ultimate fate of her home with the lop-sided landscaping partially shaded by an ivy-encrusted, infested Wild Cherry? Slow to be dealt its due, the tree has been raining its galled leaves and caterpillar lacework onto the slab concrete of a walkup framed by sad, mown-over stubs of varigated grass. The residence

hasn't seen any sustained improvements to the exterior since they bought the place twelve years ago, since their habits have been to move somewhere else when the bones of the house have suffered a thorough beating by the frustrated foreign bodies damned and (dis)lodged together (again).

In the dim light of evening, she notices the boxwoods, which over the years becoming diseased and dispatched by degrees, leave their blanched brains

beyond the reach of a solar light source staked somewhat haphazardly in the groundcover. There, the detailed feeds upon and feebly penetrates the shade zone. Wire grass, convolvulus and iris splittings grapple with the ivy planted underneath two winestained Japanese maples.

One thriving, one stunted, they complete a cultivated assymetry of the inhabitants themselves.